


like fire and gasoline

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Synchronized Diving, Argent is their swimming coach who would've THOUGHT IT, Coach Argent is a BAMF, Competition - Alternate Universe, Derek is a bomb ass diver okay, M/M, Misunderstanding, Oblivious, Scott is a confused puppy, Silly Boys, Slow Burn, UST, ok, so is Stiles, um, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gets his new diving partner a week before the next competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The last thing I should be doing is starting another WIP, I know, buuuut, most of this is already written! And I do promise updates on my other WIPs soon. I'm halfway done with both of them but writing is just a very slow process for me (on those at least). Anyway, this was inspired by watching the Olympics when one of the anchors said that diving bonds were all about trust blah blah and I decided it'd be fun to play with Derek/Stiles in that world.
> 
> Please know that I absolutely know N O T H I N G about synchronized diving and that some of the information in here is probably wrong. And by probably I mean that it definitely is.
> 
> I hope to update this at least twice a week, so keep on the look out!
> 
> Unbeta'd. Enjoy!

He gets his new diving partner a week before the next competition.  
  
Which--  
  
Isn’t very long at all, considering that you need to fully  _ trust _ your partner in order to be a good team, but--  
  
But, Stiles isn’t complaining, not really. Because his last partner left something to be desired and when Jackson waltzed out of their last practice with venomous promises on his lips about how he’d find someone better--someone better than Stiles (highly possible) and Argent, their coach (less possible, really; Argent was the best in the  _ state _ , at least)--he wasn’t upset about it. He’d never really liked Jackson anyway. He was a good diver, actually one of the best synchronized divers Stiles had ever had for a partner, but he had an obsession with perfection that was contagious (mostly because he forced Stiles to stay behind for more practices even  _ after _ Argent had left, which was just stupid and reckless but Stiles did it anyway) and he had a mean streak as dangerous as Lydia Martin.  
  
Who is a goddess.  
  
But Jackson is less so, really.  
  
Jackson was a full-fledged asshole on the best days, and a misguided douche on the worst, and somehow it seemed like all of the money his father was putting into this wasn’t exactly worth it when Stiles wasn’t even that happy to go to practice anymore.  
  
With the best diving coach in the state.  
  
Yeah--  
  
Jackson was that bad.  
  
But, anyway, Argent marches in on their regular Monday practice with someone trailing behind him. Someone--  
  
Who is Derek Hale.  
 _  
Derek Hale _ , who is not only one of the most renowned synchronized divers in California, but also has enough gold medals worth more than Stiles own  _ existence _ . And if you knew just how much Stiles’ existence was worth, you’d know that it’s quite staggering.  
  
He’s no where near Derek’s level of expertise, doesn’t have the strength that’s wired through his body, rippling through those obscene (seriously  _ obscene _ , how does the man even get out of the house without looking at himself in the mirror extensively instead?) muscles, nor does he have the cunning--and quite frankly,  frightening \--precision that Derek does, but he makes up for it in speed and eloquence in the water that somehow doesn’t transfer outside of it. He makes up for it because he’s a damn good diver and he knows it, he’s flexible and willing to learn even if he’s stubborn as fuck sometimes.  
  
Argent complains about it, but Stiles is sure it’s one of the reasons Argent  _adores_ Stiles as much as he pretends he doesn’t.  
  
But anyway, Derek Hale is apparently his new diving partner, or maybe he’s there as an example of the diving partner that Stiles will never be good enough to have--  
  
And yeah, Argent is actually  _ that _ fucked up to think that’d be a funny thing to inflict on Stiles, so he wouldn’t be surprised--  
  
“Stiles,” Argent says, and then gestures behind him, tersely. “This is Derek--”  
  
“Hale. Derek Hale,” Stiles blurts, and then thrusts out a hand even though one wasn’t offered, because he’s socially awkward and he’s totally going to go home and text Scott and tell him  _ who the fuck he shook hands with today . _  
  
Derek stares at it for a while, like it personally offends him (Stiles briefly wonders if he remembered to wash his hands after using the bathroom this morning, because Derek would totally be able to sense that type of shit, he’s  _ that _ good) before shaking it slowly.  
  
“I’m Stiles,” Stiles introduces, even though Argent has probably given the rundown on who Stiles it, what he’s all about, and what he’s eaten for breakfast for the last two years because Argent is  _ that _ type of coach. And it’s not because he’s had Stiles on a fixed diet since he was thirteen.  
  
Not at all.  
  
“I know.” Derek says, gravelly voice reaching deeper places in Stiles than he’d like to admit.  
  
“Oh,” Stiles says, awkward, “right. That makes sense.”  
  
“He’s your new diving partner,” Argent cuts in, like it isn’t already obvious--okay, so maybe Stiles  _ is _ a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but come on, he isn’t  that bad. “For the indefinite future.”  
  
Stiles bites back the almost automatic witty response, and nods. “Okay.”  
  
Argent raises his eyebrows at this, because even though Stiles will never admit it, Argent knows him better than almost anyone--aside from Scott and his father and even  _ Allison _ , who has become one of Stiles' best friends since she started dating Scott--it's impossible not to like Allison, she's kittens and rainbows and a pretty heavy dose of badass all rolled into one, and hating Allison is like stomping on pretty forest creatures intentionally--(maybe Lydia, too, if Stiles is being generous) and he knows how much control it takes for Stiles not to open his mouth at every opportune moment.  
  
“Well,” he sighs, running a helplessly hand through his hair. “I’m going to go--do stuff,” he says, waving his arms in their general direction. “Get to know each other. Gain knowledge. When I get back we’re going to start diving.”  
  
Stiles nods. Derek just stares.  
  
*  
  
After Argent leaves, some of the tension leaks out of the room, which Stiles is grateful for.  
  
Especially given Derek’s reputation.  
  
Not that he’s been reported to be catty--like Jackson--or anything, but rather because he’s always been depicted as a harsh and stone-faced person, never once cracking a smile, not even when he won World a couple years back (and like clockwork every year after that). Derek is professional and just the right side of mean, cutting-edge and a master of his craft. Stiles can appreciate that, from a distance, mostly, but he thinks he can learn to appreciate it with Derek as his diving partner. It’s just going to take some time.  
  
Derek doesn’t seem like a people person.   
  
His last three diving partners didn’t even last six months.  
  
 _ Collectively _ .  
  
But that’s okay, Stiles thinks, because if anyone can break Derek, it’s probably Stiles. Stiles, who talks a mile-per-minute and is probably one of the more friendly divers in competition. Hell, Stiles even got Jackson to participate in partner-bonding-Friday-nights, where’d they gather in the Stilinski household, or one of the hotel rooms where they were staying at and they’d gorge themselves on food they’d have to work double-time to get off the next morning and watch stupid movies neither of them cared about.  
  
It was nice, and it was everything Stiles needed, even though Jackson whined throughout the entire thing, most of the time--  
  
Stiles thinks it’s one of the only reasons (if not the  _ only _ reason) that Jackson stuck with him so long.  
  
Stiles tried.  
  
Most people don’t, with Jackson, at least.  
  
So, yeah, maybe Stiles is a little confident that him and Derek might just work out, if Stiles wills it enough. If  _ Argent _ wills it enough. Even though Argent is only six years Derek’s senior, Derek has this striking ability to submit to authority when he wants to, and Argent can be a terrifying individual when the time calls for it.  
  
Stiles isn’t worried.  
  
At all .  
  
(Okay, so maybe he is a little--and no, he is absolutely not fucking  _ terrified _ , okay, he really isn’t, because there’s nothing to be afraid of here--because Derek Hale is Derek Hale, and while he tries not to listen to rumors, it’s hard to ignore them when they all say the same thing, practically, that Derek is more trouble than what he’s worth, that he’s an awfully impressive athlete but a rather horrible person in general.)  
  
Stiles dealt with  _ Jackson _ for almost a year.  
  
Stiles--  
  
He can practically deal with  anyone .  
  
*  
  
“I don’t trust anyone,” Derek says, right before Stiles could get a word in--  
  
And that.  
  
Yeah.  
  
The tension comes back  _ tenfold _ .  
  
“Not even me?” Stiles asks, because he has to, because he’s Stiles and he always needs to know what he’s up against, even if it’s some surly diving partner he was recently strapped with.  
  
Derek’s eyes narrow, his mouth straightening into a thin line. “Certainly not you.”  
  
Stiles.   
  
Is speechless, really.  
  
“Awesome.” Stiles bites out, eventually.  
  
*  
  
Derek starts doing push-ups after that.  
  
“Do you ever get  _ tired _ , Jesus Christ,” Stiles breathes, more of a statement than a question, because it’s obvious by this point that Derek Hale is a  _ tank _ and doesn’t get tired.   
  
Or maybe he’s an android.   
  
A government experiment gone wrong--   
  
_ Or _ , oh so very  _ right _ .  
  
Derek just grunts--  
  
He  grunts , and because the universe hates Stiles he switches to one arm only.  
  
“You suck,” Stiles says, kicking the metaphorical dirt beneath his feet as he strips of his clothes, down to his diving speedo. “You suck and I hate you for making me feel like an inadequate human being.”  
  
The lack-of sleep from the night previous must be getting to him, then, because he’s sure he hears Derek huff out a laugh, and he’s also sure that Derek would probably rather be caught dead-- _ literally _ \--before showing any type of emotion.  
  
Even laughter.  
  
Actually,  _ especially _ laughter.  
  
*  
  
When Argent comes back, he finds them like that, exactly, with Derek doing his ridiculous out-of-water workout routine, and Stiles doing laps around the pool to kill time (if he’s doing some meditative diving techniques underwater then no one can judge him for it, right?).  
  
“Did you two bond?”   
  
Stiles snorts, shrugging his shoulders as he swims close to the edge. “Bond? Oh yeah, coach, we bonded  _ tons _ . Over our mutual hate for  overbearing authoritative figures and strictly protein diets. Oh, and did I mention ridiculous coaches that expect a  diving bond  a week before a competition? Because if I didn’t, then I’m mentioning it now.  _ Ridiculous _ .”   
  
Stiles narrowly refrains from throwing his hands up in exasperation.  
  
Derek Hale is fucking difficult.  
  
Argent glares at him. Derek is, helpfully (see here: not at all), silent. “Do you remember how I told you years ago that if diving didn’t work out that you could try your hand at comedy?”  
  
Stiles beams, “Yup.”  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
And Stiles is so, so very sure that he hears Derek’s peel of laughter, even though the bastard tries to hide it into his shoulder.  
  
What an  _ asshole _ .  
  
*  
  
“You’re going to dive today,” Argent says, again, cornering them both with those puppy dog eyes that not even Scott has perfected, and Scott is like the reigning champion of puppy dog faces, okay--he once got Stiles to streak naked through Stiles’ old neighborhood. Sober. And  _ in broad daylight .  _

 

The restraining orders that came from half of his neighbors soon after had so not been worth it.

 

“Argent--”  
  
“Just one dive.”  
  
Derek glares at the coach, but nods tensely, anyway. “Fine.”  
  
Stiles, never to be one outdone, crosses his arms over his chest petulantly and sighs. “Let’s do this, I guess.”  
  
They bump shoulders accidentally on their way to the ladder, making Derek turn toward Stiles and glare  _ violently _ .  
  
Stiles stares at him, unimpressed. “Careful, there, Derek,” Stiles taunts, even though he knows he shouldn’t, because he’s sure Derek’s the type to inflict damage first and ask questions later. “You might sprain an eye with all of that glaring.”  
  
Derek’s glare just intensifies, which Stiles didn’t even know was  _ possible _ , and he’d probably congratulate the dude if he wasn’t suddenly fearing for the current preferred placement of his balls.  
  
Something tells him Derek wouldn’t hesitate to rip them off.  
  
Painfully .  
  
“Seriously dude, you don’t scare me,” Stiles says, and shrugs his shoulders when Derek does a particularly intimidating headbutt..thing. Yeah, Stiles really doesn’t know what that  _ was _ , or what this guy’s problem is, but Stiles is so, so not dealing with another Jackson. “Dude, your like, intimidation tactics, while colorful and creative, aren’t really going to do anything, okay? I dealt with Jackson I-am-a-douchebag-and-will-make- _ you _ -feel-bad-about-it Whittemore for  a _year_ practically, and buddy? That’s a long time. Because Jackson Whittemore is an asshole. You sort of pale in comparison.”  
  
He barely has the words out before Derek’s pushed him up against the wall, fingers flexing against the grip he has on Stiles’s shoulder, and he can’t exactly help the breath that stutters out of him or that yelp that resonates deep in his throat.  
  
“Don’t  _ test _ me,” Derek growls--literally  growls , like some sort of angry puppy. “I will rip your throat out--”  
  
“With your teeth, right?” Stiles grins, and then laughs at Derek’s curious but sour expression.  
  
And how--  
  
How does he even  _ do _ that, really?  
  
“I’m friends with Danny,” Stiles smirks, “he was your partner, one, maybe two years ago?” Realization lights in Derek’s eyes and Stiles hisses, “come up with some new material, buddy,” and ruffles Derek’s hair before skittering away like a scared deer.  
  
Because Derek is actually some special brand of terrifying.  
  
Not that Stiles would ever  admit that.  
  
He’s not  _ stupid _ .  
  
He just likes to flirt. With Der--danger.  
  
Yeah, danger.  
  
Let’s go with that.  
  
*  
  
The dive, as expected--as  _ Stiles _ expected, at least--goes pretty terribly. And Argent, as expected, makes them do it again.  
  
And again.  
  
And once more after that.  
  
Derek, eventually, glares at both Stiles and Argent simultaneously--it’s a feat, really, because Argent is on one side of the pool while Stiles is by his side--and asks, “how much longer?”  
  
“One more.”  
  
Stiles sighs, and then tries to talk Argent down. If there’s anyone that can talk someone down, it’s Stiles. Stiles isn’t stupid, he’s self aware and because he’s self aware he knows that he comes off as obnoxious and someone that talks too much, doesn’t know when to shut up. He’s also self aware enough to know when the time is to use it to his advantage, and that time is  _ definitely _ now.  
  
If there’s anyone who gets thoroughly annoyed by Stiles’ mouth and his willingness to use it, it’s Argent.  
  
“Look, coach. We’re tired. You’re tired, yada yada yada. I know you and I know you’re about to go into a whole self-righteous spiel about how breaks significantly thwarts athletic greatness or whatever bullshit you’re about to feed us, but Derek and I have just met. Magic isn’t going to happen. Bonds take a while. Jackson and I didn’t even start getting  _ remotely _ acceptable until the second month together--and yeah, granted, that’s because Jackson is a huge  _ cock, literally _ , but like, Derek and I need to  trust each other in order for us to even qualify for the final round of the competition on Saturday.”  
  
Stiles really had been hoping that this would subdue Argent, make him see that his goal to make them absolutely freaking perfect by the end of the day, but if anything it just makes a spark light in his eye, so bright that it makes Stiles suppress a shudder.  
  
 _ Fuck _ .  
  
“You’re right Stiles,” Argent says, and he can feel Derek shift beside him. “A diving bond is all about trust. So, that means you and Derek are going to spend as much time together as possible. Go grab some coffee. Eat out together. Play video games. Do  whatever . But every moment that you’re not here, practicing your routine, you’re going to be spending time with each other.”  
  
“Ar--”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“Coach--”  
  
“It’s going to happen.”   
  
Derek looks seriously pissed off, but Derek always looks seriously pissed off, so Stiles isn’t sure it has anything to do with him, this time.  
  
“Fine.” He repeats, in that same tone he had when they were to practice together.  
  
“Good,” Argent smiles, predatory and lethal. “Don’t even think about trying to get out of it, either,  _ Stilinski _ . I’ll know.”  
  
Stiles sputters. “Why  me ?”  
  
“You’re best friends with my daughter’s boyfriend. Do you really think you could fuck around town and cause trouble without  me knowing?”  
  
“Um.” Stiles says. “Yes?” He tries.  
  
Argent looks unimpressed. “ _ Go _ . Your assignment starts now.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t even have to glare at Argent because Derek does it for him.  
  
Thank  _ god _ .  
  
Stiles’ glares aren’t even potent.  
  
At all.

  
*

 

When Derek finally leaves, Stiles turns to Argent and slaps his chest. “What the hell, dude!”  
  
Argent glares at him, though it’s unconvincing. Because Argent totally adores the fuck out of Stiles, okay. He so does.   
  
Even if he’ll never admit it.  
  
“Don’t call me dude, Stiles, I am your--”  
  
“You are my coach and I will treat you with respect, blah blah blah,” Stiles drones, gesticulating insanely with his hands. “Are you still conveniently forgetting the fact that my best friend is dating your daughter? Cause I haven’t. And that you frequently host cookouts that you invite both me and said best friend to, so like, we are totally over the formal shit by now. You are practically the closest thing to my bro while being so far away from my bro too, because you’re my coach, and yeah, I have lines. Lines I will not cross.”  
  
Argent gets a dark look on his face, like he always does whenever Scott is mentioned, one he used to find personally offensive, but now he just finds adorable. Argent spends more time pretending to hate Scott than he does pretending _not_ to love Stiles, and he would be worried about that, that his coach spends so much time pretending, but Stiles doesn’t care enough for it to actually matter.  
  
“He’s a _lacrosse_ player, Stiles,” Argent says, sounding pained. “My daughter is dating a _lacrosse player.”_  
  
Stiles shrugs, and then slaps on a smile, says, “at least he isn’t a football player,” and follows Derek Hale’s ghost to the locker rooms.  
  
Because he needs to shower, like, really bad.  
  
*  
  
When he gets out of his shower later that night, there’s a couple of new text messages waiting for him on his phone.  
  
One is from Scott:  
  
 _her father is creep  
_  
Stiles sighs, forlornly. Maybe Scott is worse than Argent at that whole “pretending-is-what-I-breathe” thing, because Scott’s actually pretty good at it to. It’s like Scott is scared to admit that he actually _enjoys_ his girlfriend’s father’s company--which, he honestly doesn’t blame him for, because it’s not like getting close to the Argent family is exactly _easy_ , especially after that whole thing with Kate went down (which is a Huge and Catastrophic Thing That No One Talks About Ever) but Stiles has seen Argent and Scott slinking away to the family room, talking about basketball and Lebron James--  
  
Frankly, everything that Stiles doesn’t really care about.  
  
He ignores the text, because Scott will either come by the house later to pester Stiles into playing a little Call of Duty with him before he’s forced to hang out with Derek freaking Hale, or he’ll call later ranting about the douches in his Psychology 101 class and their Lengthy Plan of Scott’s Demise. Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they have the tendency to pick out the dumb ones.  
  
It’s not _Scott's_ fault he was blindsided by Allison Argent sophomore year of high school, really.  
  
The next text--  
  
Is from a number he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t have to.  
  
It’s Derek.  
  
 _Coffee. Tomorrow. 9 am._  
  
How forthcoming, really.  
  
 _Am I not worth a please? Or a location? Gosh Derek, way to make a man feel cared for._  
  
Derek’s reply is basically instantaneous. Stiles pouts at his screen.  
  
 _No. The one off of fifth. 9 am. I mean it, Stiles._  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes, and types a quick, _At least you think I’m worth more than some lousy Starbucks_ \--he would be truly offended if that were the case, because Starbucks? Starbucks is the worse, they’re crawling with those stupid hipster teenagers Stiles never got along with in high school, and their overpriced coffee grates on his nerves more than anything. It's hell incarnate and if Stiles ever has to step into another one, it'd be a day too soon, really.  
  
He doesn’t get a reply back, but Stiles is sure Derek’s holed up in some grungy apartment somewhere, glaring down at his phone screen while wishing for Stiles imminent and gruesome death.  
  
Yeah, this whole figure-out-Derek-Hale operation actually isn’t so hard when you realize the guy only has three default expressions.  
  
All of which are glares.

 

Yeah, this was going to be interesting.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /hides/
> 
> I am probably--no, scratch that, I am definitely--the worst author ever. It's been almost two months since I've updated this and I feel really, really horrible about that. I ran into writer's block after I scrapped everything I had of this fic because I no longer liked where I was taking it, and it was the type of writer's block that didn't go away after a couple of days.
> 
> I am so, so, so sorry it took me so long to update this fic! But I promise I didn't forget about it. This chapter probably seems rushed and the ending is a little weak, but I'm about to throw my computer against the wall in frustration, so I hope this is doable for you all! Thank you so much for all of the kudos, bookmarks, and comments you left on the first chapter! It really was the kick in the ass I needed to actually work on the fic more even though I felt like giving up. 
> 
> I've changed the title of the fic because I feel like this one fits it more, and I've also changed the expected chapter amount. I'm not sure how long this fic will be, or even how many chapters, so that's basically guess work and is subject to change at any time!
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much to everyone who helped me plan out this chapter and pestered me until I wrote it. Lord knows when this would've ended up getting written if it hadn't been for you.
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> Also, serious apology for the extreme abuse of parenthesis and italics. This is unbeta'd (but read over by me, granted, it's 6:03 am right now so I'm not sure how accurate my read through is, but) and I'm actually searching for one, so if you'd like to beta this then let me know!

Stiles gets to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early.  
  
Derek’s not there yet--not that Stiles is really surprised, he seems like a on-point kind of guy and everything, so Stiles doesn’t expect him until at least 8:59--but he orders a coffee for himself anyway, loaded up in sugar and creamer. He may have agreed to meet Derek here (mostly because Argent was serious about this, and when Argent got serious about something he was not only downright horrifying, but he would stop at nothing to make sure it actually, you know, happened), but he wasn't going to wait to get his beloved coffee.  
  
He had to be awake for their meeting, after all.  
  
He sits at a back table, because they're his favorite, and reads a mythology book (they are, also, his favorite) while he waits. If he wasn't involved in diving, Stiles is pretty sure he'd be in college getting a hopeless degree in mythology (sometimes--okay, mostly in the last 24 hours, if he’s being honest with himself--Stiles thinks he should’ve just gone with the mythology degree, because dragons? He could so, so handle. He would be all over dragons; he’d be the fucking dragon master, or whatever. But Derek? Yeah, not so easy to handle, definitely not so easy). Or maybe something having to do with English--probably mythology, though. Maybe both.  
  
Probably both, actually.  
  
Derek, as expected, arrives at 9:00 on the dot, and maybe that should've made Stiles feel a little nervous, how seriously Derek was taking this--though Stiles is not actually convinced that Derek takes anything lightly, really, he's not even sure the guy knows how to have fun--eat, breathe, sleep Stiles and Derek Time thing. Especially given how little Derek obviously wanted to do it, but it didn't.  
  
He likes it. Maybe if they're both serious about this, they'll actually win.  
  
Stiles likes winning.  
  
(He never won with Jackson, after all.)  
  
Derek looks nice--well, Derek always looks nice, because Derek has that stupidly annoying gene where it's impossible for him to be anything other than ridiculously good looking, which is so, so not fair, especially because Stiles is, well, Stiles, trapped in a average-looking body with an slightly below-average looking face (not that he was suffered from terrible self esteem or anything, he was just aware)--dressed in a fitted, black v-neck and jeans.  
  
With a leather jacket. Not surprising, really.  
  
And, of course, Stiles has to comment on it.  
  
Because it’s distracting, how besotted he is with it.  
  
“Can you go anywhere without that thing? It’s actually kind of scary how attached you are to it,” Stiles says, because now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek at a meet without that leather jacket somewhere near him.  
  
Derek scowls. “What.”  
  
“Your jacket,” Stiles supplies. He’s not even going to bother commenting on Derek’s general lack of punctuation.  
  
Apparently, it adds charm. Stiles just happens to think it’s annoying. And kind of insulting, too. Like, seriously, how did this guy even pass high school?  
  
Derek doesn’t comment on it, just goes to the front of the shop to order his coffee, and Stiles doesn’t understand how this can turn out to be anything other than completely horrible. Because that’s what it’s going to be--  
  
Detrimental. Horrible for Stiles' health, a possible threat to society as a greater whole.  
  
Asking Stiles to spend an extended amount of time around someone as attractive as Derek without thoroughly embarrassing himself is like asking Tony Stark to not blow shit up: it’s not going to happen. It’s almost encoded in his DNA for him to be a fucking moron around people in general, and when you throw in someone like Derek, who quite literally might actually be perfect, Stiles’ nerves go insane. And maybe one would think with Derek being an asshole and all, it’d be easier for Stiles to ignore it, but, nope.  
  
It’s just Stiles’ luck that he’s attracted to assholes. Possibly more than he’s attracted to attractive people.  
  
Which--  
  
Isn’t healthy, Stiles knows, but he’s never been a particularly healthy person.  
  
Well, when it comes to himself, at least. There’s no way he’s letting his dad get away with clogging his arteries with all of those greasy cheeseburgers his mother let him eat for most of Stiles’ childhood. No chance in hell. He likes his dad healthy, and in one piece, and you know, alive.  
  
But, anyway. That’s not even the point, here.  
  
“Close your damn mouth,” sounds Derek suddenly, so suddenly that Stiles jumps in his seat and nearly avoids spilling hot coffee all over himself.  
  
Stiles’ jaw was probably on the floor again.  
  
(That, sadly, tends to happen when he thinks, really, either that or his tongue gets lodged between his lips, and okay, Stiles knows he has an oral fixation and everything, but really, he tries not to be too obscene in public--especially after that One Incident with the Grape Lollipop and Convicted Felon, and no, Stiles really, really doesn’t talk about it.)  
  
Stiles picks his jaw back up as eloquently as he can (‘eloquently’ meaning ‘ awkward’ and ‘do-not-show-in-public'); letting Derek know how caught off guard he is only is laying the foundation for mocking in the future for Stiles, and well, he dealt with that enough in high school.  
  
Stiles scowls. “How about you warn a guy next time, eh?” He asks, though there’s no real heat to it.  
  
Derek’s mouth twitches slightly, but he otherwise doesn’t move.  
  
Stiles doesn’t know whether to congratulate him on his bright future in being a pet sloth--and the thought may actually make Stiles laugh a little, because thinking about Derek being lazy is just hilarious, okay--or glare at him for possibly being the most infuriating creature to grace the planet.  
  
He settles for crossing his arms over his chest, gracefully, might he add, and stares at Derek’s stupid face.  
  
“Aren’t you going to sit?” Stiles asks, though all he really wants to do is slam his head into the table a couple of times.  
  
Stiles is an actual drama queen before he seriously gets going on his coffee.  
  
It’s not like Stiles claims to be perfect.  
  
Derek rolls his eyes--literally rolls his eyes, before setting his cup down with a little more force than necessary and yanking back the chair across from Stiles’ with enough strength to grab the attention of the older woman sitting at the table next to theirs.  
  
Stiles smiles at her, in a way that screams ‘I am so sorry for his rude behavior, he was raised by wolves’ but being as the lady only stares at him in a uncomfortable way until Stiles can’t take it anymore, he’s not quite sure he succeeds.  
  
“Thanks,” Stiles seethes. “That lady probably thinks we’re gang members or ex-cons or something else ridiculous like that. I can’t have that image attached to me, Derek! My father’s a sheriff. A sheriff.”  
  
Derek just taps his fingers against his coffee cup, considering. “You don’t look like an ex-con,” he supplies helpfully.  
  
Like Stiles--  
  
Didn’t already know that.  
  
“I’m well aware I look like a fucking twelve-year-old, Derek,” Stiles hisses, but can’t help but feel a little guilty when the woman glares at him again.  
  
Stiles can’t be sure, but he thinks Derek laughs at him.  
  
And by laughing, Stiles means Derek stares at him unnervingly, but his eyebrows are twitching in a ‘I’m not as mad as I’m pretending to be’ kind of way.  
  
Stiles doesn’t find that anything but irritating.  
  
*  
  
“This is going great,” Stiles says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I can totally see why Argent wanted us to bond, because you’re not a horrible person or anything.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes, sitting down across from Stiles almost disdainfully. “Stop being dense,” Derek tells him.  
  
Stiles sighs. “Stop being-- _wait._ What, seriously dude?” Stiles asks, just now realizing the drink that Derek got.  
  
“What.”  
  
“Your drink! It’s so frilly and..” Stiles kind of festers, at Derek’s withering look, but with a sick determination, adds on, “girly. Definitely girly, there man. Are you seriously drinking a frappe? A mixed frappe?”  
  
Derek growls, “Stiles.”  
  
“Oh, god, that is so fetch.”  
  
“Stiles--”  
  
“This is great.” Stiles says, just in case Derek doesn’t understand how great it is.  
  
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growls.  
  
“Not even you are ruining my buzz kill with this,” Stiles says, “That’s how brilliant this moment is.”  
  
Derek makes a truly pitiful noise at that.  
  
Stiles may or may not smirk into his coffee, pleased with himself.  
  
That may or may not be a thing.  
  
*  
  
Spending time with Derek when he’s not outright a sour asshole, actually--  
  
It puts Stiles on edge, that’s what it does.  
  
“Dude,” Stiles sighs, somewhere between his sixth and tenth scone. “I’m going to die from this,” and that’s not what he meant to say at all, whoops. He meant to say something about having to leave to go check up on his dad, because that’s who he stayed with when he was in town (he may be a twenty-three year old man, but he’s a twenty-three year old man with attachment issues, and Stiles is damned if he’s going to leave his dad like that, okay, and besides, he’s still young enough to live with his father).  
  
“If only,” Derek remarks dryly, but there’s no heat to it.  
  
Stiles thinks Derek’s had more than he has.  
  
“You look like shit,” Stiles blurts, because Derek does, even though he still looks inhumanly beautiful.  
  
Not fair, Stiles thinks bitterly, but he’d like to think it doesn’t show on his face.  
  
Derek scowls. “Flattering,” he mutters, low enough that Stiles probably wasn’t supposed to hear, but he does anyway.  
  
Because he’s awesome like that.  
  
“Just speakin’ the truth dude.”  
  
Derek looks unimpressed. Stiles, frankly, doesn’t care. “Right.”  
  
*  
  
They leave the coffee shop way past lunch time.  
  
Stiles didn’t expect to stay that long (despite what Argent thought, Stiles isn’t going to spend every ounce of free time with Derek freaking Hale), but he did, because scones and coffee and Derek are a fatal combination, and well--  
  
Stiles never claimed to be a strong man, okay?  
  
He couldn’t resist.  
  
Stiles is almost afraid that Derek will try to rope him into spending more time together, maybe going out to lunch even though the thought of stuffing his already enormously overstretched stomach with anymore food makes him physically ill. Derek just seems like the type of guy who thrives off of Stiles’ misery. But he doesn’t, he just stands outside the coffee shop, hands shoved into his beloved leather jacket, staring Stiles down.  
  
“Dude,” Stiles groans. “That is seriously creepy! Why are you staring at me?”  
  
Derek shrugs. “This wasn’t so bad.”  
  
Stiles snorts. “Glad to know my company wasn’t completely horrible,” he pauses. “You really need to work on your people skills, dude. I’m all for talking, but, you know, it’d be nice if you interjected with what you thought once in awhile. It’s weird not having your conversation partner actually participate in the conversation.” Stiles wasn’t just busting his balls here, either. Stiles did actually want to hear Derek talk more, not only because he had a nice voice--  
  
Not that Stiles noticed he had a nice voice--  
  
But, if Stiles were to notice, then he would think Derek had a nice voice.  
  
Anyway, he wants to hear Derek talk more, because he thinks there’s something more to Derek than Stiles first gave him credit for. It’s not like Stiles exactly means to do it, but Derek’s presence is menacing before you break through the wall he keeps up (and that must be tiring, really, keeping up a mask as frequently as Derek does, but Stiles isn’t going to push that particular issue. He likes his balls intact and his face arranged the way it is, thank you).  
  
Stiles actually finds Derek...interesting. Intriguing. Something other than the two dimensional dick Stiles had always heard the other man was.  
  
“I talked.”  
  
“Two words every twenty-five minutes doesn’t count, man. They don’t even count in the slightest. That’s like saying my father is a healthy eater just because he eats the veggie burger twice a month. No bueno.”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “You talk enough for the both of us.”  
  
Which is--  
  
True.  
  
Stiles isn’t going to deny that he talks a lot.  
  
“Right,” Stiles agrees easily. “I’m just saying that this whole ‘getting to know each other’ thing isn’t going to fly well with Argent if I’m the only one talking. The whole, trust and bond thing we’re working on here goes both ways.” Stiles holds up his hands in mock surrender when Derek glares at him. “Don’t glare at me! I’m just speaking the truth! You do want to win on Saturday, right?”  
  
“I always want to win,” Derek scowls.  
  
“Then you better get-a-talkin’ because we’re not going to win on Saturday if we don’t trust one another,” He says, carefully. Stiles doesn’t think they’re going to win, period, because first-time partners are almost always a disaster.  
  
And when you throw in a hyperactive diver in with an almost always sour one, it’s the perfect recipe for failure.  
  
But--  
  
Stiles is seriously not going to say that. Derek is delicate. The situation is delicate. He doesn’t want to make this any harder than it has to be.  
  
Derek may be a dick sometimes (see here: 99.9% of the time, especially if in the vicinity of, or talking to, Stiles) but at the end of the day, they’re diving partners, and whether or not Stiles likes the personality attached to the undeniable talent that is Derek Hale, if he wants success, Stiles is going to have to be civilized toward him.  
  
He’s not quite sure Derek will appreciate Stiles voicing his concerns.  
  
So, he keeps quiet about that.  
  
“Fine,” Derek agrees, unhappiness clear on his face.  
  
“I’m just saying,” Stiles amends, “If we have any chance to win on Saturday, we’re going to need to step our game up. Getting coffee and nearly dying off of scones was fun and all, but it was hardly personal. I know you’re not...comfortable with getting close to people but--”  
  
Derek cuts him off. “You’re right,” he says, and looks even more unhappy about that.  
  
“But you’re going to have to put that all behind you because Argent’s really pulling for a--wait, what?”  
  
“I’m not saying it again,” Derek growls--and seriously, does this guy ever stop with the growling thing?--but Stiles isn’t nearly as terrified as he was the first time.  
  
People just don’t growl, okay? That’s not a thing. For humans, at least.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles says, licking his lips quickly. “Okay. Awesome. Glad we’ve established that. With little-to-no bloodshed. That, I think, is a beautiful thing.”  
  
All he receives is a weird look from that one.  
  
So, maybe Stiles is a little rusty when it comes to socializing, but, he’s not that bad.  
`  
“We should probably head to the pool sometime to work on our technique,” Stiles says before Derek can say anything, even though Derek doesn’t look like he’s about to say anything at all. Which really is all the more reason for Stiles to say something; he doesn’t do well with silence. “I like practicing with Argent, he gives us direction and structure, but we really need to do it by ourselves, too.”  
  
Derek nods. “That’ll probably be best.”  
  
It’s a small miracle that Stiles doesn’t convulse right there, because--  
  
Is Derek agreeing with him? Twice? In ten minutes?  
  
Stiles, before he can think better of it, rushes towards Derek and presses a hand to his (alarmingly hot, actually) forehead. “Are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever?” Stiles asks, straight-faced. He holds up two fingers in front of Derek’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”  
  
Stiles ends up in a heap on the floor, his arm aching dully. He glares up at Derek.  
  
“What was that for?” He asks, pushing himself to his feet as he does.  
  
“You’re being an idiot,” is all Derek says.  
  
“I was just making sure my diving partner wasn’t suddenly succumbing to flu-like symptoms! I mean, Derek, you did agree with me. Twice. In the span of ten minutes--”  
  
“I’m regretting that now,” is all Derek says, but Stiles is sure he’s kidding.  
  
Pretty sure.  
  
85% sure, actually.  
  
“Anyway,” Stiles says, after a moment of awkward silence. “When did you want to practice?”  
  
Derek actually looks thoughtful for a second, the harsh pinch between his eyebrows fading to something barely recognizable now, and Stiles can’t help but notice how nice it looks on him, for him not to be angry all of the time. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll head to the pool before any scheduled practices.”  
  
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “How do you know when there’s scheduled practices?”  
  
Derek just smirks at him, giving him an abortive wave as he walks away.  
  
Stiles is sure that he will never understand him.  
  
*  
  
When Stiles gets home and finally, finally lays down to go to sleep for his usual post-breakfast nap--home as in his childhood bed he’s sleeping in for the remainder of the week while they’re still in Beacon Hills for the competition on Saturday--his phone vibrates on the bed.  
  
He’s not surprised the text is from Derek.  
  
 _Pool opens at 6:00 am tomorrow. Be there @ 6:10, we’ll be able to get in two hours before the first practice starts_  
  
Stiles groans, unable to help the noise that escapes his throat. Early morning practices are the worst.  
  
 _are you trying to kill me_  
  
 _i feel like you are trying to kill me_

  
Stiles sends the texts back to back, fucking punctuation in the ass because he’s tired and who needs to be grammatically correct when you feel like you’re about to topple over?  
  
 _If only that were the case._  
  
Derek’s reply is instantaneous.  
  
Stiles falls asleep with a slight smirk on his face before he’s able to reply.  
  
*  
  
When Stiles wakes up, there’s another text from Derek and two from Scott.  
  
 _I mean it, Stiles. If you’re not there at 6:10 sharp, I will come over to your house, gut you with a butterknife and force feed you your entrails._  
  
Apparently, what Derek lacked verbally, he made up for it texting.  
  
That isn’t a good thing.  
  
 _I applaud your creativity, but your threats don’t scare me, dude._  
  
Stiles gets out of bed after he sends it, going into the bathroom to take a post-nap piss (that feels fucking awesome) and brushes his teeth because he hates the film that coats his gums and teeth after he wakes up. He contemplates showering, but decides he doesn’t have to look his best while cooking dinner for him and his father, and just settles for hopping on the computer to check his email and fiddle with stumbleupon until he gets bored.  
  
*  
  
The text message, when Stiles finally remembers that he was texting Derek (And Scott, though his messages are always only variants of “ _Shit Allison’s dad is out for my blood again this week_ ,” and “ _Allison is so amazing god I’m so in love with her Stiles_ ” so it’s not like they’re actually something in dire need of attention).  
  
 _Don’t tempt me, Stiles. Be there._  
  
Stiles can’t help but notice the text was sent mere seconds after Stiles texted him a reply.  
  
Stiles wonders if Derek cleared his schedule for the day to spend it with Stiles. There’s no other way he’d be that free enough to reply to Stiles’ text messages that fast, right?  
  
Right?  
  
*  
  
(Derek cleared the day, just for Stiles.)  
  
*  
  
They don’t talk about Kate Argent.  
  
Stiles has, and will never, probably, talk about Kate Argent, because Kate Argent terrifies him. In the way that things scare him in that (thankfully) detached way because he’s never been touched by her rare brand of wrath.  
  
Which Stiles counts as a good thing.  
  
Rumor has it that Kate is vicious, particularly towards unsuspecting young and attractive rising diving stars.  
  
Like Derek Hale.  
  
Not even Argent talks about Kate Argent, which, you know, Stiles used to ignore, because it’s not like he cared about his coaches personal life, anyway--besides the whole making sure his coach doesn’t kill his best friend bit, because his best friend’s safety was important to him, obviously. Still is important to him. But Argent’s outright vengeance toward Scott during the first couple months of his relationship with Allison has faded into something more of passive dislike. Almost like Argent doesn’t really have it in him anymore to be too bothered by the fact that his daughter’s in love with a has-been professional lacrosse league star.  
  
But anyway, everyone knows who Kate is, and more importantly, what she did.  
  
It’s the suspected main reason as to why Derek is so grouchy all of the time. No one knows the full story, of course, because Derek is private and downright awfully protective. Trying to get Derek to talk about anything somewhat personal--and even then, Stiles swears Derek is more of a wall than an actual breathing human being--is like trying to get Scott to pay attention to Stiles’ life at any given moment. Not that he doesn’t love his best friend or anything, because he does, he really, truly does. Scott is more of a brother to him than a real blood brother can be.  
  
It’s just, he’s not terribly perceptive, since Allison.  
  
He never has been, really, but everything’s taken a spot on the back burner since he met her, and Stiles isn’t--  
  
Stiles isn’t bitter, okay, he really, truly isn’t. Because Allison--  
  
Allison is awesome. Allison is rainbows and kittens and a fucking tank (seriously, the girl is almost as frightening as her aunt, only she’s definitely sweeter, too), so much so that it’s impossible not to like her. Not liking her is like hating those fluffy bunnies from Stiles’ childhood, the ones that Scott and Stiles would wait for hours in the woods for, would set up shop with only a couple of carrots and heads of lettuces to try to get the bunnies to play with them.  
  
Yeah, Stiles was adorable as a kid, alright.  
  
So, Stiles doesn’t hate Scott. He doesn’t even blame him. If Stiles had a girl as hot as Allison hanging off of his arm and wanting to, you know, be around him, willingly, then Stiles would probably act the same way.  
  
Only, he’d be more perceptive.  
  
*  
  
Definitely more perceptive.  
  
*  
  
After meeting with Derek, Stiles becomes curious.  
  
About what made Derek tick, about Derek in general.  
  
(And if Stiles blames his sudden curiosity on wanting to know everything about Derek because it’d help the bond they’re supposed to develop in a weeks time, and not because he simply just wants to know...well, it’s not like anyone has to know the truth, right?)  
  
And learning everything he could about Kate Argent and everything she had to do with Derek seems like a good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait between chapters definitely won't be so long this time! So sorry again for the wait and thank you kindly for your patience! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I am so, so freaking sorry.
> 
> As life would have it, a couple of days after I posted the chapter I ended up getting a job and being as I work almost every day now, I've barely had time to write anymore. All of my free time is spent sleeping--because I don't get enough of that with my job, and I'm just, so sorry it's taken twice as long as it took last time! I definitely understand if most of you have given up on this, but I am in no way, shape, or form abandoning this! 
> 
> I have Monday through Wednesday off next week (and tomorrow as well) so I'm hoping I can crack out a good one or two chapters and get this really moving! I'm not sure how that will go because I'll also be catching up on my sleep, but, I'm really going to try! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! I feel like it's not my best but it's longer than the others and gets the plot moving a little. I'm also still looking for a beta for this (and for my other fics as well) so if anyone is interested please let me know via private message/email/askbox me at my tumblr.
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience and I am so sorry about the wait again! 
> 
> Also: I changed the title of this. Again...sorry.

It’s hard to find the time to learn about Derek without Derek actually knowing.

 

It's incredibly frusturating.

 

Normally, Stiles likes the search in things. There's a reason why his father complains endlessly about his habits after he gets a new partner--Stiles may or may not have spent hours searching (illegally, with his father turning a blind eye, of course, because his dad learned long ago that Stiles was going to do it whether or not his father let him in with his own key, and it was just safer for everyone involved if he was under the watch of his father) the city's archives for information about Jackson. All he found were adoption records, a few minor house disturbances calls related to music, and a very sketchy looking birth certificate copy. So, needless to say, it's not like this is the first time Stiles has tried to do research on a new partner, because it _isn't_.

 

But it's been almost a few days and Stiles still hasn't even managed to pick through Derek's files yet.

 

Stiles usually manages that within the first, like, ten hours of meeting them.

 

Derek's throwing him through a _loop_ , constantly wanting to be around him. Stiles admires the dedication, really, he does, but he needs  _me_  time, too, you know? likes to do research blah blah

 

Derek’s taking Argent’s orders pretty seriously, either because he doesn’t want to ruin his unblemished record (at least until Kate got out of the picture, he’s been a the picture perfect diver, professional and press wise), or because there’s some weird, semi-aggressive agreement between them two where Derek will follow Argent’s commands and Argent helpfully won’t mention that his sister single-handedly destroyed Derek’s career.

********  


Stiles thinks that’s probably helpful.

 

For them at least. For Stiles, it  _sucks_.

****  
****

The tension between them two is evident, though, almost as palpable as the tension between Scott and Argent that never seems to disipate, but it’s been significantly less noticeable here lately, almost like they’re trying not to let it show around Stiles--which is stupid, because if they really think they’re fooling Stiles, they have another thing coming for them, really.

 

Stiles can understand it though, the reason why Derek is so unforgiving. 

 

Derek’s career took years of hardcore training and careful planning to build back up. Or that’s what Stiles hears, anyway. The whole Kate debacle happened when Stiles wasn’t really involved in professional diving, he’d just been a hyperactive kid in high school who tried out for the diving team because he sucked at lacrosse. And, okay, maybe Stiles gets Derek being hesitant--because, fuck, Stiles would be too, if the one person he trusted almost as much as family had completely decimated his career, especially for someone who cared about diving as much as Derek did--a little too much, possibly, but he just doesn’t know how to deal with it, is all.

 

Stiles doesn't know how Derek deals with it, but then again, Stiles is sure it's just one of those things that Derek just  _doesn't_ deal with.

********  


Derek is different than Jackson. He doesn’t scream, or yell, or complain. He takes on everything with the same broody, unnerving gaze, whether he wants to do it or not. He doesn’t whine. He doesn’t argue. He takes everything in and considers it, and maybe he’s a little brash, but Stiles--

********  


He doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t hold the weekly “make Jackson get his shit together” meetings with Argent anymore, because if anything Derek is the one who has his shit together out of the both of them.

********  


It’s just nice.

 

Not dealing with a partner who bitches all of the time, who doesn’t make themselves the center of attention, like Jackson was so fond of doing.

********  


It’s nice, and a little annoying, because a man--

********  


A man needs time to himself, alright?

********  


Apparently, Derek doesn’t understand that.

********  


*

********  


It all starts with the early morning practice.

********  


Here’s the thing: Stiles isn’t a morning person.

********  


Stiles hates mornings. He’s one of those people that needs at least two cups of coffee before he feels even remotely human, and even then, it’s questionable. There’s nothing more Stiles hates than not being able to get in his morning coffee before his morning run, because there’s something about being on a routine that Stiles thoroughly enjoys--he even thinks it may be connected to why he doesn’t really have a problem with his ADHD anymore; well, that, and ADHD usually fades with age.

********  


Routine helps Stiles function.

********  


Routine lets Stiles be himself.

 

Stiles needs routine as much as his routine needs Stiles.

 

(Can you tell someone hasn't had their daily cups of coffee yet?)

********  


He wakes up as usual, because even though they have plans, he's still going to try to breeze through his routine, as much as he can, anyway. He brews the first cup of coffee while he takes a shower to save time, and eats whatever he can find from the fridge, which Argent doesn't approve of, of course (“Balanced meals are important for everyone, Stiles, especially athletes, and the fact that I know your fridge is filled with 2% milk and your cupboards are filled with six different flavors of Poptarts really discourages me.” Argent said to him one morning.

********  


Stiles rose a brow. “How do you know that?”

********  


“Your best friend is dating my daughter. Do you really think you could get away with something like that and have it not get back to me?”

********  


Stiles narrows his eyes. “Scott would never.”

********  


Argent’s smile is smug, and possibly a little evil. “He would.”)

********  


But, whatever. Argent can go suck a fat one if he really thinks Stiles is going to give up the only thing in the morning that Stiles actually likes. He’s not about to trade in his sugary poptarts for egg whites and his coffee for skim milk.

********  


Just, no.

********  


It’s not going to happen.

********  


_Ever._

********  


Anyway, Stiles is running short on time this morning, and barely has time to complete his routine before he has to leave. He tries really, really hard to hate Derek for it--you don’t mess with a man and his routine, okay--but he’s coming up blank, which only serves to annoy him more. Stiles grabs his bag off the kitchen counter as quick as he can before heading for his car.

********  


For some reason, he has a feeling that Derek won’t be fond of Stiles being late as he usually is, and while normally Stiles wouldn’t mind going out of his way to piss Derek off, he’s not really in the mood for it today, either.

********  


*

********  


He gets there with a few minutes to spare, and Derek’s staring moodily into the water.

********  


“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, dude, but this isn’t a disney movie, so your reflection is still going to be broody and tense. And angry. Definitely angry.”

********  


Derek wheels around to glare at him.

********  


“Well,” Stiles says, cheekily, because his mouth regularly has a mind of his own and he doesn’t think about what he’s said until he’s sitting in the principal’s office with a bloody lip and a bruised ego--not that they’re in high school anymore, because he’s pretty sure Derek’s like, at least seven years out of high school, but whatever, he’s sure Argent wouldn’t appreciate the picture anymore than his principal did. “Look at that! I was right.”

********  


“Stiles,” Derek growls, opens his mouth like he wants to say something else but he closes it eventually. That's probably for the best, Stiles thinks. “Just get ready to practice.”

********  


Stiles hides it, but he smirks down at the ground as he walks away.

********  


*

********  


The practice may or may not go more horribly than the practice with Argent.

********  


Probably because Argent isn’t there as a buffer.

********  


Stiles huffs. “Dude, I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about this. My technique works for this dive, okay,” Stiles says, steadily.

********  


Maybe Stiles spoke too soon when he said that Derek was a better partner than Jackson.

********  


They’re both assholes.

********  


Well, okay, maybe Derek isn’t a constant asshole like Jackson is, but when he is, he’s nearly just as potent, and twice as vile, and Stiles is used to douchebaggery, but it’s starting to be too hard to deal with.

 

And it hasn't even been thirty minutes.

 

It’s not even that he thinks Derek means it, because Stiles really doesn’t think Derek is a dick by nature. Sure, he's tempermental and a little abrasive, and sometimes he can be a little cold, but.

Stiles thinks he was probably forced into it, after the stint with Kate.

********  


It’s not layer of his personality as much as it is a security blanket, Stiles thinks.

********  


Not that he’d ever tell Derek he thinks that, of course, because Derek may not be an asshole because it’s pre-programmed into his DNA, but he wouldn’t think twice about punching Stiles in the face. At least Stiles doesn’t think he would. Violence seems to be one of the only ways Derek can express himself.

********  


Which is frightening.

********  


And kind of fascinating. For behavioral psychological purposes.

********  


Derek doesn’t say anything, of course he doesn’t, he just stands there and stares at Stiles like if he looks at him hard enough suddenly Stiles will be compelled to do what he says.

********  


Which is bullshit.

********  


“Look,” Stiles sighs, running a hand over his buzzcut, kind of despairingly. “Despite what you may think, I am not out to make your life harder, nor am I out to see your impending failure at Saturday’s meet, dude, I just--I know what I’m good at, okay? And while your technique is good for you, I can’t pull off the powerful flips and twists and skews you do, because I am not a fucking tank, okay, I am 147 pounds of nimble limbs and barely refined power. I can’t do what you do. My body isn’t built for that.”

********  


At least Derek just looks sort of thoughtful.

********  


“Let’s just do our own thing,” Derek says, eventually.

********  


“That is the opposite of okay,” Stiles replies. “Do you even understand the basics of diving?”

********  


“You’re not understanding me,” Derek says, and Stiles has to strain to hear, but he’s pretty sure Derek’s clucking-- _clucking_ , holy god--his tongue at him.  _Disapprovingly_.

********  


“Then explain it to me.”

********  


“You have your technique. I have my technique. Just because we’re doing the same dives does not mean we have to have the same approach to it to make it synchronized.”

********  


Stiles stares. “So, basically what you’re saying is that we’ve spent the last hour arguing over something that you couldn’t have had the foresight to see before this all escalated?”

********  


Derek doesn’t twitch, but Stiles is pretty sure it’s a close thing.

********  


“Yes.”

********  


“Beautiful, that’s--gorgeous, really,” Stiles sighs. “We’ll try it like that, but I’m not sure it’s going to turn out how you think it’s going to turn out.”

********  


Derek just shrugs.

********  


*

********  


It turns out near fucking flawless--there are a few technicality issues; like, Stiles jumping off just before Derek does, Derek going into a tuck before Stiles even finishes his his first twist, and the fact that Stiles flies through the air while Derek glides, but all of that can be fixed with practice, Stiles knows.

********  


Stiles--Stiles is so shocked he doesn’t even mind the way Derek is looking at him smugly, like he just opened up the Chamber of Secrets instead of finding an approach that worked for their diving routine.

********  


Stiles figures (silently, of course, he’d never bring up his Harry Potter obsession with Derek unless forced) they’re not all that different, really.

********  


“That was awesome,” Stiles exclaims.

********  


Derek ducks his head a little, nods, and says, “yeah.”

********  


“The question is, though,” Stiles starts, “is, whether we can do that again or not?”

********  


Derek is, unhelpfully, silent.

********  


*

********  


When Stiles is finally home after the impromptu brunch that Derek drags him to after the actual practice with Argent--and Stiles will begrudgingly admit they’ve made more progress in those two hours than Stiles ever made with Jackson during their entire careers together--Stiles barely has enough energy to drag himself into his room to collapse on top of his sheets, stinking of fried chicken and chlorine.

********  


*

********  


Derek meets his father by accident.

********  


Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t trying to hold it off. It’s not that he means to make a huge deal out of it or anything, because naturally diving partners will spend more time around each other in order to solidify a bond, but Stiles has always been overly protective of his dad. Even when mom was still around to help Stiles do the protecting, he’d stay up every night in his room waiting for his dad to come home from the night shift, just to make sure he’s okay. The fact that he might have to share his father with someone--okay, this is how pathetic Stiles is, really, the very real truth that he has to share his father with Scott sometimes, genuinely makes him want to pummel the guy into the ground; his best fucking friend--it makes Stiles sick.

********  


Maybe introducing Jackson to his father only made him all the more hesitant.

********  


Most people think Stiles grew up too fast, losing his mom at the young age of ten to a horrible disease that he couldn’t understand, having to take care of his damaged father.

********  


But Stiles thinks he didn’t grow up fast enough.

********  


Not really.

********  


Not when you think about it. Stiles is caught between thinking he’s a thirty five-year-old stuck in a twenty one-year-old’s body and thinking he’s fourteen again.

********  


So, anyway, he’s kind of protective of his dad, because his dad means a whole shitload to him.

********  


It’s one of those things that happens, one of those things that just comes with the job.

 

From Stiles’ experience, it always comes a little too early.

********  


Jackson didn’t meet his father until about three or four months into their partnership, and that was still too early for Stiles (he maintains the day could’ve never come too soon with Jackson, because if there was one person on this earth that Stiles didn’t want to share his father with, it was Jackson-’I’ve-had-a-porsche-since-I-was-fourteen-Whittemore’). But then again, Jackson was like one of those assholes--actually, he was one of those assholes--who gave Stiles a hard time in high school, and really, prolonging that meeting as long as Stiles possibly could was the smartest plan of action for that.

His father has guns. Has loads of guns, actually. And it doesn’t take him much persuasion for him to use them.

********  


With force.

********  


But with Derek, it’s different.

 

(It's always going to be different with Derek, it seems.)

********  


*

********  


Stiles wakes up to quiet conversation downstairs, and the smell of coffee and burnt pancakes.

********  


Stiles isn’t that much of a morning person--and who the fuck is a morning person, anyway, who actually likes being able to see the sun? Because Stiles doesn’t, humans _shouldn’t_ \--so he doesn’t really notice it at first, just goes about his morning until he realizes somewhere between brushing his teeth and putting on his clothes after his shower that his father never tries to make breakfast without Stiles being at least five feet away from him at all times.

********  


And maybe the fact that his father has now taken up talking to himself is a little disconcerting--

********  


Until he hears the second voice.

********  


The second voice that sounds distinctly like Derek Hale.

********  


Derek Hale, Diving Partner Extraordinaire.

********  


Whatever.

********  


Stiles has bigger things to worry about.

********  


Like, why the hell his father is using the oven. There is a sign! One that says, ‘Father shouldn’t cook unless under threat of death by starvation’ and in smaller print it says, ‘Which is useless because Stiles lives here and he cooks amazing meals that his father eats always.’ There are _italics_! And Helvetica font! With _feeling_.

********  


Stiles has reason to freak out, too, okay, this isn’t one of his panic episodes that have no grounds.

********  


The last time his father tried to cook something, well--

********  


Let’s just say that They Don’t Talk About It. Capitalization and all.

********  


And neither does the fire department.

********  


Or his dad’s deputy, Henderson.

********  


As far as the rest of Beacon Hills is concerned, they don’t know how horrible the sheriff actually is in the kitchen. They think he bakes all of the cookies he brings to the events around town, and even though Stiles is the one that actually makes them, he doesn’t mind letting his father take the credit for it, anyway. He’s sure there’d be a riot if they found out otherwise. And Stiles likes doing things for his dad, because it makes him feel nice, makes him feel like it’s one less thing that his mother is going to roll over in her grave for.

********  


It’s enough to be enough.

********  


For Stiles.

********  


So, when Stiles smells burnt pancakes--the rule is very important, okay, in the Stilinski house at least and while he pretends to ignore the fact that his father makes eggs on the mornings Stiles doesn’t come home, he’s not quite sure he can ignore this--he’s a little perturbed.

 

He jumps out of bed, flailing around the privacy of his own room (he’s made the mistake before to just ignore his father burning food in their kitchen, which is how the whole ‘We Don’t Talk About This Situation’ situation happened, and look, he’s not going to do _that_ again, alright) and books it downstairs, fingers clenching tightly at his side.

********  


“Dude!” Stiles says, when he finally reaches the kitchen. “I thought we had an agreement! An agreement that you would never, ever use the kitchen appliances.”

********  


His father looks at him, somehow both annoyed and uncaring at the same time, and shrugs. “Dude,” he repeats, voice dry. “I didn’t touch the appliances, dude.”

********  


“Okay,” Stiles wrinkles his nose “I don’t know say dude that much.”

********  


“You do,” says a new voice, and Stiles totally, really, does not jump in the air, okay, he doesn’t, he has to have some dignity left.

********  


Stiles turns around and glares at Derek--

********  


Who is standing.

********  


In his kitchen.

********  


Fuck.

********  


(Stiles knew this, really, because in his panic-clogged mind, he’s pretty sure he remembers hearing and recognizing Derek’s voice, but there’s a sound difference between knowing and _knowing_ , okay.)

********  


“What’re you doing here?” Stiles asks, the _'how do you know where I live,'_ not said, but heavily implied. Stiles isn’t that rude, after all.

********  


Derek scowls. “Your father saw me in the grocery store. He invited me over.”

********  


“My father would nev--” Actually, Stiles thinks, that’s something his father would do. Stiles complained to him about Derek the other day, about how Derek is steadfast and angry, but isn’t nearly as much of a dick as Jackson is, at least not all of the time, anyway, and yeah, his dad would take up the opportunity to invite his new diving partner over for a chat.

********  


Not completely to spite Stiles, either, probably.

********  


But Stiles still isn’t holding it past him, okay.

********  


“You’re a horrible person,” Stiles says, glancing over at his dad. “I hate you, wholeheartedly.”

********  


His father smirks, smirks. “I’m sure,” he says, easily enough.

********  


Stiles rolls his eyes, and looks back up, screeching, “who the hell burnt the pancakes, then?!”

********  


His father doesn’t say anything, but he looks off guiltily over Derek’s shoulder when he thinks Stiles isn’t paying attention.

********  


_Well_. At least Stiles knows who’s going to do the cooking in this new relationship of theirs.

********  


Figures.

********  


*

********  


Derek stays most of the day, much to Stiles’ chargin.

********  


Look, it’s not that Stiles minds Derek’s presence or anything, because Derek’s not so bad when you get underneath his extensital bullshit, but, it’s just--

********  


It’s his father. Stiles doesn’t want to share him. He may or may not have had problems sharing his father with his mother. And vice versa. Stiles..Stiles was a complicated child, okay? It’s not something Stiles is proud of, being so protective of his father--at least in this sense, because his father does deserve to be around people that make him happy--but it’s not something he can even begin to control. He’s tried, okay, he has, and it’s another Thing They Don’t Talk About.

********  


Probably because his father is just as protective as Stiles as Stiles is of him.

********  


There’s...

********  


The Stilinski family is one of a kind, Stiles thinks.

****  
****

(Let it be known that Stiles isn't exactly sure if this is a good thing or not. He's still deciding.)

 

But he's managing, okay, for his dad's sake at least, because he's whooping and hollaring at the TV, beer clutched in his hand with Derek, and there's a look in his eyes that Stiles hasn't seen for a long time, one that suggests he's having a good time--Stiles has never understood sports that were not lacrosse or diving, after all--and it makes Stiles' chest feel warm and heavy.

 

Maybe having Derek around won't be so bad, if he can make his dad look like that again. 

 

*

********  


When Derek finally does leave, Stiles' dad plops down next to him and simply says, "I like him."

********  


Stiles raises an eyebrow. "You've never liked my diving partners before."

********  


It's true, though.

********  


Mainly because he's been paired with douchebags, mostly, until now, but whatever, it still stands.

********  


"He thinks The Patriots are shit," his dad pauses. His dad really doesn't like The Patriots. "How could I not like him? Also, he's less of a dick."

********  


"He really isn't," Stiles says, even though that's a lie.

********  


His dad doesn't call him out on it, thankfully.

********  


*

********  


Stiles is in bed later when he thinks that maybe he's being a little too hard on Derek, that maybe he should try a little more. Give the guy more credit.

********  


It's always been Derek, up until now.

********  


Derek's made the effort, has texted Stiles every night and every morning to meet up, and maybe Stiles hasn't been giving Derek the attention he deserves. Okay, Stiles definitely hasn't been giving Derek the attention he deserves.

 

Stiles has been a colossal dick, lately.

********  


And here’s the thing: Derek isn’t a bad guy, not at all.

********  


But, it’s almost as if Stiles is always going to already hate his new diving partners before they’ve even opened their mouth. Maybe it’s his track record with them, because he always somehow ends up with the assholes, like there’s this huge invisible tattoo on his forehead that says, “assholes, welcome!” or something equally as annoying.

********  


Knowing Stiles’ luck, he probably does.

********  


He’ll have to ask someone, some time.

********  


Anyway, though, Stiles realizes he’s kind of been being a dick unnecessarily, has been ever since Argent introduced them, and that really makes him feel shitty. and whenever that happens--it happens quite often, actually, despite Stiles winning one of those really awful superlatives in high school (he’s pretty sure his was something along the lines of “Nicest Guy” or..whatever), there’s this weird internal guilt-trip thing that happens where Stiles can’t stop doing nice things for people, like invite them out to coffee and actually pay for once.

********  


(Stiles doesn’t pay, because he found out sophomore year of high school that if he pouts and talks enough, the people with him don’t really notice when they pay for his drink too. Unless it’s Scott...then he notices, because Scott always notices the things Stiles never wishes he did.)

********  


He has the unignorable urge to do that, now.

 

*

 

Stiles thinks he's probably going to go do that now. 

 

It's the least he can do, after all.

********  


*

********  


Only Stiles is tired of coffee.

********  


So maybe not.

********  


*

********  


He starts off with a text, because there’s only two ways to contact Derek at this point, and he sure as hell isn’t calling the guy.

********  


At least not yet.

********

_lets do something_

__********

****

Thankfully (and possibly a little shockingly) he gets a reply a few minutes later.

********  


_Coffee?_

__********

****

Stiles wrinkles his nose.

********  


Anything but coffee, really.

********

_Dude, if I ingest anymore coffee I might actually combust. Actually, I think there’d be a required hospital visit because I’m sure my caffeine levels are at a hazardous level by now._

__********

****

Stiles doesn’t know what else there is to do, though. There’s not much they can do, they’re still at that awkward stage where they’re not entirely comfortable around each other--and being as it’s Derek, Stiles isn’t even sure they’ll ever get to the point where they’re completely comfortable around each other.

********  


There’s still no reply a few minutes later, so before Stiles can realize it’s probably a horrible idea to invite Derek over to his house to watch a couple of movies and order too much takeout for two men to eat, he just...does.

********  


_You could come over here. We could watch some movies and play videogames or whatever and gorge ourselves on shitty takeout food_

__********

****

Stiles isn't expecting a reply. Or rather, he's not expecting a reply he will like.

********  


If there's one thing he's learned about Derek Hale, it's that he's not one for social situations. He's never heard him talk about videogames or about some botched Halo mission he failed at and while that just seems otherwordly to Stiles--he grew up on videogames, okay, his videogames had _videogames_ \--it's then that he realizes he doesn't know much about Derek (seriously, either Derek is dead-set on interferring with Stiles' researching time, or he's lost his touch), aside from the fact that he had a seriously horrible public breakup and that most of his family is either dead or lives out of state.

 

Stiles--

********  


Stiles isn't sure how to stomach that, not even on a good day.

 

 

Before Stiles can dig himself deeper into his Internal Thinking Hole, his phone is vibrating with a new text message alert, and he scrambles to answer it so fast he almost shatters the phone on his floor.

 

Smooth. 

********  


_Ok_.

**  
**Stiles’ heart may or may not skip a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: 
> 
> stilesmas.tumblr.com
> 
> Feel free to drop me a message any time! I'm super friendly and love a good conversation :)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the severe abuse of capslock.
> 
> Title is from Brand New's song "Gasoline."


End file.
